[DH] For a Glimpse of Heaven

The chatter is deafening.

Discrete words are lost in the throng of the crowd, so dense below that it blurs into a splatter of colors elaborate and woven.

Yet it is that density that makes it beautiful, that makes it into a moving painting of souls. It never captures the same shape twice, guided by the beating heart of existence.

I know in its depths, there is elbowing and shoving, a curse word here and there, a stepped foot, anger. A fight could boil over and, from my vantage, I would never see it. They would spit on my naive admiration.

But, even that too I cherish - for fighting is living, too. The chafing gives meaning to the pleasure, the push-pull of struggle against satisfaction. Even their squabbles are beautiful, symbols of life as they are, even if in the moment heated emotions flare.

It is more people in one place than I have ever seen before in my life, plodding around the field below, all awash in life and its dance.

I wish I could be like them. Alive and free.

Though, I’m sure they’d feel the opposite, for the way I’m clinging to the Heart of the World’s arm.

Their god stands with his head proud, his expression serene and gentle. Though he watches the servants flitting about, preparing a carpet and trays of refreshments, the myriad eyes of his wings are all honed on I.

The servants make no mention of this strangeness, of my presence. They’ve had long to get used to me and the way I follow Heart around the Rose Castle. They’ve watched him turn on a heel, beam a smile, wrap arms around me tightly, coo into my ear.

Surely, they do not understand it fully. But they are respectful, patient, and do not question their Heart. If he plucked a worm from the gardens and breathed life into it for a companion, then so be it.

But the people below would question. They would wonder. They would erupt in rapturous confusion, a breath from a riot. Who is this servile worm, who dares to stand at the side of our beloved god?

Heart hums, a wing twitching slightly. I glance up, catching the way his smile has faded at the corners.

Surely, he’s thinking the same thing.

It’s presumptuous of me, but we do often follow the same patterns.

I suppose it makes sense. If he’s the cover, I’m the bookend. We’re bound together, reflections on the same coin.

But it’s still presumptuous.

I know I’m right, though, when he twists a little to adjust the collar of the robes around my shoulders. There’s no need, of course - they sit nicely on me, hug my body with softness, held in place by a ribbon at the waist.

Any who glanced at us would surely ignite in confused offense, seeing a little creature like me dressed in the same flowing fabric of their god.

“Should I change?” I ask him.

“No,” he says, a little strangled. “You really do look lovely in that.”

The servants move a little jerkier, a little more stilted. The world has tensed, poised, tasting Heart’s anxiety. His magic beats it out, the tempo by which existence breathes.

“Are you having second thoughts?” I ask.

Heart glances away, the shame obvious on his soft features. One of the softer-hearted servants abruptly bursts into tears, and darts out of the room.

My hand closes around Heart’s before the guilt can consume him. His eyes widen for a split second - then he squeezes back, and a tiny smile forms over his face, and everything feels right in the world again.

“I am anxious,” he admits, so plainly. “I....”

His fingers twitch.

“I just know you’d be safer back at the Castle,” he says too quickly, not looking at me but instead off into the distance, “I - of course, I’ll keep you safe here, but - I know that you’d be safer away from them, and-”

He glances towards the exit of the dark little room, to the crowds in the field below, a flat ovallish outcropping on the mountain.

Carved into the mountain’s side are rows and rows of seats, topped off by a set of seventeen thrones. Each’s color is distinct, decorated in beautiful treasures and trinkets valued by each individual Dragonhost.

And, then, above those thrones - a richly decorated box, covered in filigree and a swooping canopy, an overly-plush seat overlooking it all. Heart’s royal box, with the best view of the field below.

But Heart’s stare is focused on the thrones, to the first one. It is a deep green, and swathed in thick vines and blooming flowers that form a thick rainbow.

And, draped on its fat cushion, one leg crossed over the other, is Madera. Her fingers are steepled, and she stares down at the proceedings with a critical eye.

Will this festival be good enough to please Heart?

After all, it’s one of the few times she agrees to let him loose. It must be excellent in all ways - enough to satiate him before slamming the Castle’s doors shut for another year.

Or, perhaps I’m misreading her. Perhaps she’s more concerned with the colors of this spring’s blooms, the vitality of the flowers, the preparation of the maypole and its garlands.

After all, she is the queen of flora and the jungle and plants, and perhaps she looks to see if her domain is properly venerated for the Spring Festival.

Heart is trembling, slightly, beside me. I look up to him. The distant stare is still over his features.

It discomforts the servants, clearly, and the world, too. They shudder, turn away.

But I face him, and I wrap my arms around him tightly. His eyes finally snap to me, though the feral twinge to their edge has not cleared.

He hugs me back, so tightly that it almost feels like being crushed. There’s an intense fear, so deep, in the way his hands grope to hold me closer.

“They won’t see you,” he says, strangled. “I’ll be sure of it. I will. You can - you can enjoy this - it’s - good for you.”

Though I hold him back just as tightly, it’s impossible to keep my own trepidation wholly smothered.

Part of me is, yes, worried about the Dragonhost noting my presence - seeing me in their eyes, seeing my true self, and beating us both for our selfish little venture.

But more of me is - captured by the way Heart’s breathing is uneven, the paranoia that has grown over him like a mold.

Is it my fault? Have I tainted him, changed him, warped him into something he’s not?

Has the Source-All been so insidious, this time? Is the nature of my destruction to be slow, creeping, dread - no gnashing of teeth and writhing of claws, but a gradual and pained transformation into irreconcilable monster?

Yet when Heart pulls away from the hug, his smile is so relieved, soothed, sweet.

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s at fault at all, “I - I do want you to enjoy this, I just....”

“No, I understand why you’re worried,” I tell him, and rub my thumb against the outside of his hand. “I’m happy to be here, though.”

He beams, radiant. “I’m - really glad to hear that, Worm.”

“It’s exciting,” my voice is faster, caught up in his smile, “to see all these people here. To...”

To see spring so intimately.

To know it, not by the prose of a book, but by the smell in the air and the song of birds; by the flowers below and the smell of the growing feast; by the tilt of the sun and the growth of the magic.

All returns to life, freshened from their sleep under the snow. The turn of a new year.

And I will be here to see it, in person. Not locked in the Castle, not hidden away - but here, at Heart’s side.

That’s a presumptuous thing to say. But at Heart’s side!

As if sensing the glee in my heart, he squeezes my hand.

“You’ll love it,” he says, so assured. Then- “Well, I love it....”

“With good reason.”

Before us is a slight stir. Beyond the door to the room, I hear Madera’s booming voice. She fills the space, but so far away, I cannot make out words or distinction.

Still, it has heralded a change. The servant’s energy is coiled, tightly, prepared. Heart stands a little taller.

One of the group peels away to bow deeply in front of him. He smiles, even though they can’t see it.

He’s so gentle.

Madera’s voice fades. I can hear a rumbling of applause from the gathered mortals below. Part of me mourns that I couldn’t hear her speech.

But, ah, decorum. There is a tradition here.

One that I, ender of the world, want to respect.

“The Dragonhost await you,” the servant says, not lifting their head.

I really should learn their names. Rather, I feel sort of embarrassed that I haven’t, yet. They surely know mine.

Heart takes a steadying breath, and the servant rises. They step back, and draw back the thin curtains blocking the door.

Once more, he squeezes my hand and gives me a brief little nervous smile.

To think that such radiance believes it has any reason to be anxious. The world would shatter in glee if he were to simply sit there at the apex, strumming on a harp, serene smile over his loving features.

He’s anxious because he cares, though. That’s just how wonderful he is.

We step forwards, my hand slipping out of his. Though my outfit would surely give away the depth of our relationship, it was best not to scandalize the world with held hands.

The sun’s rays alight on him instantly, its warmth flaring. There is a chatter as birds alight on the balcony railing, beaks raised in exuberance as they sing.

Below, the seventeen thrones have filled. But they stand as one as the crowd’s uproar turns towards Heart, and they clasp their hands over their chests in beloved salute.

I disappear more easily against the side of the wall than I thought I would - no one’s eyes are glued to me, too distracted by the brightness of Heart.

It’s for the better, of course.

My eyes flick over the Dragonhost.

Most of them are smiling, some serenely, others proudly. A few have their chests puffed out, like Madera and Silfra, glowing.

The more professional among them have stern faces, like Thian and Shaymir, looking upon Heart not as a friend but as an authority.

He lifts a hand, gently, his comforting smile silencing the roar. Even the animals quiet, waiting with bated breath, all eyes turned on him.

It’s incredible how he mantles that weight so effortlessly, so easily. He was truly made to guide this world, spun from hope and dreams and love itself.

“Thank you, all, for attending this year’s Spring Festival,” he says, his voice subdued yet loud enough to echo over the mountainside. “Seeing all your gleeful faces fills me, too, with affection.”

Even I can feel it - the swell of the magic in the air, like an invisible wave, swirling all around us, threatening a flood - a flood of eagerness, of energy, of celebration, of revelry.

“This bounty is found from all corners of our beloved world.” he spreads his arms wide. “From the oceans of Clearwaters, the gardens of Madera, the heights of Fohlaine, the shores of Blackreach. We have all come together as one to usher in the new year once more.”

Madera’s smile twitches closer to a frown. Her province didn’t get listed first. The pettiness sort of makes me grin in amusement.

“Let us thank the Source-All for another year passed, awash with life and love, and hold that hope for this year.”  he brings his hands closed.

There is a quiet moment of silence, of prayer, over the mortals.

I chew the inside of my mouth. I’m not sure if I should pray or not.

“So, please, venerate this Spring and venerate this world - eat, drink, be merry!” Heart’s arms sweep upwards, and as they do, the crowd’s thunderous cheer drowns out all other noise.

He remains there, at the balcony’s edge, for a few seconds longer. He waves a gentle hand to the crowd, who linger for their own few seconds before dispersion begins.

Some mortals flock to the stalls of food and trinkets, which are offered freely. There is some pushing, some elbowing, but waiting hands are filled with generous bowls of fruits and overflowing cups.

Children are handed little dolls, flower crowns draped over their heads. Some are chasing each other through the thick crowd, laughing even when they trip and faceplant into the soft grasses.

Other mortals still have taken up post next to several marked fields, stretching or adjusting armor or murmuring to those around them. Several dragonids peer out of the nearby stables, eyeing their soon-to-be-riders. A few idly chew on oats.

A few mortals prance past, dressed in flowing white dresses. They toss flower petals at the gathered competitors, who give a cheer in response and raise their lances.

Most of the Dragonhost have returned to their thrones, though some are turned towards one another to speak.

Madera has remained standing, though, and waves her hands lit with magic.

Across the cliff’s sheer face, enormous vines snake out of the rock, which swell for a second before bursting into flowers more than three times my height. A sweet scent floods the air - not overpowering, but pleasant.

Not to be outdone, Silfra simply lifts her hand and flicks a finger.

From the rock underneath her throne flows first a trickle, then swiftly a torrent. The waterfall splashes down into the pit dug for it and out the channels to the side, around the entire outcropping, and then off into the fog off the mountain’s side.

Heart’s hand touches my back gently. I pause, then pull myself away from the balcony’s edge. At first, my ears pin back, uncertain if - but all the worry washes away when I’m held in his loving stare, his eyes sparkling.

“See?” his voice is nearly trembling. “I - I wanted you to see it.”

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him, breathless.

It is.

This world is beautiful. Heart’s world.

I’m so lucky to be able to see it. Really, to be able to even think of it. That I emerged at all with the capacity to think, to see, to understand.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to destroy this. I can’t fathom it.

Why? I wish I could throttle the Source-All, fingers digging into its throat. Why does this world need so badly to be destroyed? Why would you lay such a weight on it?

What about this could you possibly find repulsive? What about this deserves damnation in my guts?

Heart takes my hand once more, and the thoughts disappear. He pulls me towards the stairs that lead down - down to a little landing, which is filled with a throng of servants and a few guards sternly redirecting some adventurous children that came up from the outcropping.

His step is so light. I can feel it.

He shines, here, he does. He is brighter than the sun, than the rest of the world. This is where he belongs, in all senses of the word.

It makes it easy to imagine what pilgrimages would have looked like, once - the mountain filled with merrymaking as this, with as many mortals, with them dancing and singing in Heart’s garden, filling the echoing halls of the Rose Castle.

He deserves to be celebrated.

I can understand the Dragonhost’s paranoia. But I don’t know that I could have locked the cell’s door over Heart’s shellshocked face. I don’t know that I could assume myself so much more right than he, to hoard away the light of his life.

But, ah, I try not to question.

Heart and I stop on the landing. The guards have parted in front of the lowest staircase, and standing between them is Twisting Thinking Sword.

I step behind Heart.

She, meanwhile, stands at her full height, her armor practically sparkling. Her expression is the same unfriendly blankness as her portrait in the Castle, and her arms are crossed.

“Twist,” Heart says, voice filled with surprise. “Is-?”

The silliness of the nickname doesn’t phase her. She merely shakes her head once and says, “The racers crave your favor. Preferably in very obvious ribbons to tie around their mount’s necks.”

“I can’t pick favorites,” he says, with a light chuckle.

She quirks the tiniest of smiles. “I suppose you will have to distribute to them all, then.”

Heart slips away.

It’s a strange sensation, to feel him leave my side so abruptly.

But I know he doesn’t mean any harm by it, and I don’t think I’m really hurt either. Twisting Thinking Sword walks ahead of him down the stairs, shooing mortals away with a snap of a hard glare.

Heart pauses, one step down. He turns, with an awkward smile to me, “I-”

“Go have fun,” I say, and smile back.

Surprise flickers, briefly, but it is quickly replaced with unabashed, unfettered, grateful love. “I - okay! Okay, but you, you can-”

He points up the opposite stairs, which lead to the royal box overlooking the festival.

Twisting Thinking Sword has turned around to eye us. Mostly Heart, thankfully, but I do see her gaze flick to me. It is appraising, assessing.

But she says nothing and makes no movement until Heart hurries to her side, and she continues to ferry him towards the competitor’s fields.

I breathe in, slowly.

For once in a long time, I am - truly alone.

Yes, there are servants around, guards at attention, the noise of the crowd. But none are brave enough to question I, so obviously beloved by the Heart of the World.

And he is not here to guide me, to hold me, to give me his loud laughter.

Alone.

I start up the upper staircase, towards the box. It sits in the middle back of the Dragonhosts’ thrones, and so I pass them as I walk, and eye each one.

Most of them have left their stations to mingle in with the crowd. Perhaps ‘mingle’ is generous, as wherever they stand there is a wide berth and the eager clapping of their watching mortals.

Adoramevi, in particular, is busy chugging from two steins at once, to much mayhem.

I don’t judge them. Spring is - an incredible thing, isn’t it? The coldness of winter does not reign eternal; there is an end to the harshest era.

The snow melts away as the world warms, and the magic of rebirth bounds across fields like faunts, everywhere their hooves touch sprouting grass and flowers afresh.

Rejuvenation fills the invigorated rivers and seas, swollen with melt and the splashes of migrating fishes and the buzz of insects darting over its surface.

And hoe breaks into earth and churns it up, and seeds are strewn across the great fields, and there will be nights of dancing overtop. And the plants themselves will stretch upwards and spill their bounty, and for another year, the world will eat plenty and drink plenty and babies will be born.

And their bright little new eyes will look upon the world, and see that through all its suffering and struggle, there is still so much to love.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to disrupt that.

It’s not fair.

I reach to unlatch the half-sized door to the box, but a servant’s hand flies out before I can. Their fingers work the lock in a flurry, faster than I could’ve, and the door creaks open.

I glance to them.

They startle, slightly, at my stare - but just as quickly blush slightly, and give me a sheepish little smile.

“Our - Our Heart said to make sure you’re comfortable and safe,” they can barely manage the words, so flustered, “a-at all costs.”

“Well, thank you,” I tell them.

Their face turns further pink. I, uh, don’t know what to do about that, but I try not to awkwardly enter the box. They clutch their spear tighter and move to stand in front of the door.

Perhaps they’re just flustered to have received direct orders from Heart. Anyone would be.

The box is exceedingly comfortable. Under the bright canopy, the sun is less harsh, and the shade is cooling. The curtains draped around the sides allow for a bit of privacy, though they’re open towards the fields.

On the far side of the box is another staircase, leading down the other side and past the rest of the Dragonhosts’ thrones. Speaking of.

Heart’s throne isn’t as large as theirs, but rather than metal, it’s made entirely out of a plush fabric, which I test with a finger. Behind it are several tables and further chairs.

I’m... not sure where I’m supposed to sit.

Definitely not the throne, though I can imagine Heart trying to encourage it. But it’s his throne, for him.

I can’t imagine sitting there and being seen there by the rest of the world, a self-important little idiot worm.

But the other chairs are too far away from the front, and can’t see the proceedings.

Does Heart intend for ... me to sit in his lap?

Let’s not think about that.

I pace over to the open curtains and glance out over the festival, scanning until my eyes land on Heart.

He stands at the edge of the competitor’s fields, and is busy tying ribbons around dragonids’ necks. Each rider is practically preening and flustered both. Even the animals shift from side-to-side, amazed that even a beast such as they is regarded so lovingly by Heart’s excellent hands.

Even from here, he’s so radiant. So perfect.

But still just a person. Just a wonderful, kind, sweet person, waking up every morning and making that decision.

Do I do that, too?

I almost hum, arms folding on the box’s edge to form a pillow for my head.

Do I choose love and kindness every morning? Am I truly smothering my true nature, every time the sun rises?

I know it must come more naturally to Heart, so awash in love and creation as he is. I know it’s not the same. It simply can’t be, or else I wouldn’t be the Harbinger.

After all, how long could the Harbinger resist such temptations?

Ugh. No. I don’t want to waste this day on ruminating. I refuse to, plainly.

I stand up straighter.

This is a beautiful day. This is a festival. This is a glowing bright wonderful day in which I stand at Heart’s side before the world, and get to see it in every color.

My eyes catch movement on the left. I turn my head.

A Dragonhost is approaching up the staircase.

She is coming up the little steps, a broad grin on her face. It lacks hatred, mischievousness, pride - really, her hands are shaking slightly as she grips the side of the box. An opportunity has come to her, and she’s biting down.

My magic twinges, my breath catches. Of course I recognize her, though we’ve never met. Her immaculate portrait in Heart’s hall, with the same wide smile, with her name stamped cursive in a plaque underneath, alongside her peers -

- The servant guarding the entrance, too, has balked. They’re frozen between the orders from the blessed Heart and the presence of a Dragonhost, uncertain whose authority rules.

It is a testament to the power the Dragonhost have wrested over him.

Yet, I too lean forwards, hang on the servant’s shoulder, and say in a quiet voice - “Don’t worry, let her up.”

They step aside blearily, though she doesn’t hesitate. She stands, breathing a little heavily, at her full height on the last step, hands gripping the columns holding the canopy, staring into the box, directly at me.

Yet, there is no malice, no anger, no fear. She doesn’t look at me as I am, doesn’t see through the facade that Heart pulls so tightly over my face.

Luckily.

I hold her stare, uncertain still. The fear of discovery has choked me for so long - it’s hard to believe that she doesn’t see me, that she isn’t here to drive a knife into my ribs.

The box is suddenly cold. The magic in the air is tense, knowing that her presence displeases him, even if he’s not present. If she senses it, she doesn’t show it, expression the same wide-eyed.

And I realize that - I wish Heart were here. I wish he could redirect her with a wave of his hand, let his wing flare and hide me behind the pinions.

He would do so gladly, with near-offense in his stare. They mustn’t see you, they mustn’t know. He would keep me safe at all costs, even if they burned down the Castle with us in it.

I could call for him. He would find an excuse to vault the opposite stairs three at a time and shove her down the other side. He would wrap around me, smothering me in his comforting warmth and smell.

But.

“So you’re real!” Presque finally chirps, and her tail swishes once. “Can I come in?”

This is the moment of decision. A flick of magic, and Heart would pry me out of this situation.

But, instead, I reach for the door’s latch. I unhook it, words stuck in my throat thick as mucus, and pull it open, and step aside.

I welcome a Dragonhost into my isolated presence, and quiet myself as she enters, still catching her breath.

I just... I want to love the world like he does. Or did.

I want to see it lit up in all its finery and colors, in the dance of its magic and its people. I want to imagine that my thoughts can join theirs in the dance, hands holding hands as we swing about in the waltz of existence.

I want to see the sun from every corner of every continent - the way the mountains hug its soft form as it dips below the horizon, the way the water swallows it whole, the way the grass brushes against it.

I want to stand on the rocks overlooking the sea, and taste the salt in the air. I want to run my fingers across the softness of a field of wheat. I want to shriek as a fish wriggles out of my grip in a river.

Books satiate the urge. They temper it, muzzle it. But they’re only morsels, only glimpses. When the back cover closes, the hunger returns at full tilt, inflamed by the infant imagination.

But I can’t love something I don’t understand.

Presque’s eyes have not left me. Her expression is obvious on her face, worn plainly like Heart’s.

I would call it curiosity, keen and intrigued. There’s an honesty to her and the way she expresses herself that’s soothing.

I’ll know when she realizes, when she grasps at the air for her weapon. It will not be an assassination in the night. It will be an explosion of impulse and discovery.

Her hands slap against her hips as she regards me. She is wearing - admittedly, not much. A type of blue swimsuit? It’s cute on her.

More surprisingly, we’re the same height, which makes it harder to avoid her piercing stare.

I suppose I’ve always thought of the Dragonhost as towering titans, so far above I, so far above even Heart. Untouchable pillars of creation.

But... they’re just like Heart, really; they’re people, with dreams and feelings and ideals.

It’s just... easy to imagine them as others, when the only glimpse you’ve ever gotten is grand portraits and Heart’s frown.

Maybe it unnerves me more than it should, that she’s as tall as I am. Maybe an inch more, but the difference is meaningless.

She’s down at my level, on equal footing.

A Dragonhost.

“Do you talk?” she asks, a little awkward.

Well. I suppose I’ve been standing here in silence. I swallow the thoughts and give a short nod.

“Okay, good,” she says, sheepish relief blossoming in her voice and face. “You had me really worried for a second here.

“Sorry,” I say, automatically. “I, uh. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

My voice is soft, softer than she expects. Presque leans back slightly, blinking.

She recovers awkwardly, rubbing a hand across her mouth to smear away the tiny frown.

Presentable, she leans back forwards, regards with a critical eye. I hold her stare, reflected in the bright shine of her orange-star eyes.

For a painful few seconds, we remain like this. I dare not move, not breath. I don’t feel exposed, per se, more just - frozen, waiting.

Glasses clink to the right. We both look as one to a nervous servant, clutching a tray of cups sloshing with some fruity beverage. They glance between Presque and I, white as a sheet.

“Oh, those are for Heart, right?” she says, and gestures to one of the tables without waiting.

The servant sets down the tray, staring at me. There’s a strange glint in the way they regard me.

I recognize them, of course - one of the servants of the Rose Castle.

They’re looking at me like they know. Like they’ve heard Heart and I’s quiet discussions over our natures, and - dare I say it - they’re looking at me like they’re scared Presque has, perhaps....

“Thanks!” she chirps, clapping her hands twice. “You’re dismissed.”

The servant, of course, does not disobey a Dragonhost. Who would? They stumble back, lifting both hands to clasp over their chest.

And then they disappear down the other set of stairs in a hurry, pulling their hat lower over their head.

And then Presque’s keen scrutiny is filling my field of view. I startle back slightly, but she keeps her muzzle very very close to my face.

Her voice is slow, deliberate. “Do you know who I am?”

“Presque of Wyvern’s Rest,” I try to speak as smoothly as I can manage. “Of the Dragonhost.”

She leans back, giving me a lopsided smile. “You’re really not from here, are you?”

“What?”

She mimics the servant’s salute - hands clasped over chest, looking for all the world like a serene prayer, a show of devotion, save for the sharpness of her teeth.

Oh. Oops.

“Spent most of your live in the Rose Castle?” she guesses.

I just... nod.

Though I’ve just bungled it, she doesn’t... seem to mind, in all honesty.

Presque paces carefully around Heart’s throne, behind it, to the circular table. She pulls up a thick wooden chair that scraps against the ground and creaks loudly when she sits in it.

I just stand there. Her arm shoots out and rapidly pats the space across from her.

A Dragonhost has invited me to sit across from her, as if we are equals, as if I am worthy of her respect.

I perch awkwardly, but can’t keep the surprise and sparkle out of my own eyes. Her grin cocks a few more inches.

“So, who are you?” she leans forwards, her chin pillowed on her hands, her elbows on the table. There’s a gleam in her eye, the look of a detective. “A mysterious little - well, half of them don’t even think you’re real. But you’re here, in the flesh!”

“Them?”

“The other Dragonhost,” she says, with a dismissive wave. “And the ones that do think you’re real, no one’s claiming to be your homeland. I can see why, though. Look at you!”

She gestures with open palm. I glance down at myself.

“You look like you sprouted out of one of the Castle’s gardens,” she snorts, pulling her hand back. But her interest is too obvious when she says, with a bit too much intensity - “Did you?”

A wave of panic crashes against me. What do I say? Is it better to speak truth, or agree with her plausible deniability?

But I want to exist authentically.

I want... in the depths of my mind, I can see it. It’s a fragile fantasy, propped up by only hopes and dreams. I can see Heart wrapping his arms around me tightly, and the Dragonhost chittering at their table in satisfaction, amazed that he tamed the so-called beast.

A moment of tension fills my body. But just as quickly, it passes, as Madera stands and announces the first matter of today’s Dragonhost meeting.

And I am allowed to sit at his side, washed in his glow, and welcomed as any other god.

Survival begets lying. Heart lies, primarily through omission, to protect me. Those with distaste have reason to say that I am corrupting him; would he have indulged in deception so easily before?

But living begets truth.

“No,” I say. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Presque raises an eyebrow.

The Dragonhost are not known to listen to sense. Perhaps it was a mistake to state my boundary so clearly - perhaps it is less of a line in the sand, and more of an invitation to continue prodding.

After all, why would a dragon god of the world bother to respect-

“Alright, keep your secrets,” she says, wagging a finger at me. Her tone is - playful. I blink, but she continues, “I’m still going to bet on overgrown vegetable, though.”

“...What?”

“Sorry, wait, I shouldn’t call you a vegetable,” she says, squinting at nothingness and sitting back slightly. Both her palms are raised, now, though her arms are still on the table. “You’re obviously not a vegetable.”

That is correct. I hope you know that, too.

Just as quick, Presque darts forwards conspiratorially. “Are you?”

“I’m not a vegetable!” I squeak.

“Right, good, got that explicitly.” she settles again. “How long have you been around, then?”

“Ah, I, - I’m not sure.”

Not an entire lie. The years spent forming were... indistinct.

Presque cups her chin, staring me down. “Have you spent most of that time with Heart?”

“Yes.”

She chuckles a little, lowers her hand. I watch as her expression shifts somewhere forlorn, distant. I follow her gaze, out towards the fields, towards where Heart is.

Is it dangerous, what I’m doing? Would he disapprove?

I don’t mean to upset him. But a part of me says - it’s okay if he disapproves.

I want to exist. I want to see everything. I want to speak to a Dragonhost, like this, like an equal.

Well, granted, this is more of an interrogation, but - she’s here, staring at me, and she’s not brandishing a knife. She’s not rallying her peers to tear apart the Harbinger, to protect the Heart at all costs.

That’s progress.

Why am I disguised to her? Has Heart’s magic worn off enough on me that she can’t sniff me out? Have I been so unlike the Harbinger of lore that, even if her subconscious can tell, her rationality dismisses it?

It feels risky to rely on that. But a part of me wants to, anyways. Wants to live among them in secret long enough that when the truth inevitably spills, they’ve no history of violence and cruelty to bludgeon me with.

It’s sort of poisonous that I’d be happy dying a martyr if it meant I was right in the end. But in the same hand, it would be nice knowing that the threat I weigh on the world would be gone entirely.

Though, I don’t know if I could do that to Heart.

As if sensing my thought, Presque’s eyes flick back to me. Her expression is a smile, but it’s not entirely natural. She enforces it, makes herself look friendlier.

“You’re a cryptic one,” she starts.

I just nod, my hands folded on the table. Then - “Sorry.”

She waves me off. “It’s fine. I mean it’s not fine, because I’m really curious, but at the same time-”

She pauses to consider. I tilt my head.

Her voice is slower, yet casual, when she continues. “I can deal with that, though. Especially for what you do to Heart.”

“What?” my voice is strangled. Has she-

“He’s happy whenever you’re at his side,” Presque says, her tone gentle.

A hand closes swiftly around my throat, all the air squeezing out.

When Jezerca teases, calls him boyfriend - this isn’t like that. She doesn’t even know me.

She doesn’t understand. She can’t see the layers Heart and I have stacked up, the perversion of our affection, the way we deny the path laid out by the Source-All.

All she sees is - he’s happy.

With me.

And she says it, so plainly, so obvious. Just like he does.

“I don’t know who you are,” she taps the table, drawing attention to her words. “But - I think Heart....”

A distant look crosses over her face.

She shakes her head. “Who am I kidding? You already know all of this, probably, considering the way he drags you around all the time. We... we fucked up.”

We. The Dragonhost.

“Well, Madera and Silfra and the rest don’t see it that way, I don’t think.” her eyes narrow as she glances askew, frowning. “But we... really messed up. Locking him in that Castle, I mean. It’s... not good for him.”

She’s kneeling at my altar, speaking confession in confidence. She thinks she’s telling all this to some exalted priest, some beloved and elevated follower of Heart, who has been gently tending to his aching.

The idea is - addictive, to me. I want to lunge for it, dress myself in it, pretend that I could live up to it. It would be the perfect excuse to don, to echo to the other Dragonhost, and then Heart could kiss me deeply in public.

But living begets truth.

“Nobody will walk back on it.” her voice is somber in a way it hasn’t been before. “It’s - complicated, politics, weakness, protection, selfishness. There’s no point in - I’m getting off track.”

“You’re fine,” I say, still a little dumbstruck.

Presque flashes a grateful smile, but it recedes swiftly. “I haven’t seen him... glow, like he does when you’re around, in a long time. You make him really, really happy.”

I make him happy. I make Heart happy.

Objectively, I know this to be true. Even he says as much.

But to hear it from the mouth of an outsider, who has only seen glimpses and suggestions, who has come to their own conclusion away from my influence and possible manipulations....

“So... I guess what I’m getting at is....”

I lean forwards, ears perked, spine tense and unmoving.

She sits back, the chair creaks, her arms spread wide open. “You two have my support.”

Surely the Source-All is laughing.

Surely it laughs at us, riotous and cruel, for the twists and turns of its so-called plan.

Surely it makes a mockery of us, letting such statements slip from from the lips of a Dragonhost to the Harbinger.

How can we disobey its commands? How can we so proudly stomp off of its predestined path, cutting the neck at its expectations?

Surely this is what it wanted for us, in some way or another.

Perhaps it has a perverse sense of humor, and will enjoy the look on my face when it finally yanks the rug out from underneath.

Perhaps it will relish, like a candid sadist, in the way I will scream and cry when Presque will hack at me, desperate survival spitting on her previous words.

I’ve never prayed. I’ve never wanted to draw its attention further, to invoke its ire.

But in that moment, I felt a lightness in my chest, a twist around my heart.

To the air, to the sky, to the sun and the moon and the stars, I begged:

Please don’t let her regret this.

“Thank you.” my voice doesn’t sound like myself. I’ve been shellshocked, rattled so hard that my mind is rolling down the hill away from me.

Her expression is colored in deep waves. There is - I see regret, clear, ringing at her thoughts of Heart and the Dragonhost’s gilded cage. I see curiosity, still, unsatiated and eager to snap up any missed treats. I see -

- Genuine affection, rounded on me. Awareness of Heart’s feelings towards me, and, dare I say - gratitude.

I’m taking care of him. Something Presque can’t do, the politics of the Dragonhost a noose. Something she perhaps laid awake at night tossing over, stewing over, staring at the ceiling and gritting her teeth.

Did she, too, lash herself with hatred over her inaction? Did she blame herself for not pushing harder to allow his freedom? Did she feel pathetic and empty, every time she saw him with dulled colors and a plastered smile at festivals?

If so, then - bear with me, the thought is almost intolerable - then in some way, I have given her relief. I have taken the mantle, the weight, off her shoulders, and wrapped it around myself as a gown.

I, Worm, Harbinger, bringer of the end, beast of gnashing teeth and cruelty, have comforted a Dragonhost.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little lightly. “Stars. I want to ask so many questions - you know, like, how did you two meet? Have you kissed yet? - I don’t think I’m going to get answers, though.”

She’s testing, but I can’t give up that border yet. I just nod, dumbly.

“It’s okay. I understand the need for secrecy.” she glances askew again. “I’m sure Madera would explode if she found out. Heart, getting a boyfriend-”

aaaa

“-under her nose?” Presque barks a laugh. It sounds so similar to Heart’s little bursts. “Don’t worry. I don’t have any loyalty to her.”

For so many years, my fantasies have felt wrong.

How to articulate the depth? They are temptations, hateful and secretive. They are things I could never have, that tarnished me by virtue of wishing for them.

My little dream of sitting at the Dragonhost’s table, and they call me Worm, and return to their bickering and humming.

That we could all, as one, defile the natural order, reject it, and make ourselves and our world anew.

That we could defy the whims of our god, that I could convince them to give up their beliefs.

It is wrong to want such things. It is not the path laid out for me. It is not the path doled out to the world. It will end in pain and fracture, its bones cracking under collapse as my teeth tear into its heart.

Yet.

Yet, for the first time since I emerged from the depths of the earth, hacking up dirt and feeling my bones pop into place, feeling my magic stretch and give itself form -

For the first time, I feel -

Possibility.

It’s meager, smaller than a pea. Possibility, a whisper on the wind, a chirp from a strange bird.

But for the first time, it is there. The glimpse of platinum when panning, the flash of the metal against the sun. The suggestion of redemption, of hope, of change.

I stare at a Dragonhost who stares back with affection.

I know, rationally, that I mustn’t take this too far. My body screams to slam hands on the table, to proclaim to the world in a frenzy that I am Worm, the Harbinger, and I want to simply hold Heart’s hand. I want to be exposed, shredded open, so that Presque can see who I truly am inside, and know that her gratitude is not misplaced.

But reality is smaller than that, duller than that. Every step I take is across a field of landmines, their soft hum, primed and ready, the beat by which I have to temper myself.

But I can still say a little.

I can say - “It’s - it still means a lot,” in a garble of words, so rushed I’m surprised she even understands, “to hear you - give support like that. It means a lot to me.”

“You’ve got a friend in at least one Dragonhost,” she says, and for a brief second, her eyes slip shut and she gives me a warm little toothed smile.

You don’t even know what you’re pledging to, I want to tell her. I want to dismiss her words, forged under misunderstanding and deception.

Yet, I trust her.

I do.

Some part of me says - not now. But let her see the way Heart’s smile is wide when he looks at you, the way Heart’s laugh fills the world with love and revelry once more, the way Heart picks you up and spins you around.

Then, whisper into her ear your true heritage. Let the emotions work their way out of her - hatred, fear, disgust, repulsion, betrayal, murder. And then watch, as her eyes fall upon Heart’s waiting with bated breath, and watch her hang her hand and accept it all.

A friend.

Thud.

Presque startles harder than I do.

Heart is here.

He has crashed against the box, breathing heavily. He stands like a beacon, framed by the wooden columns and the shut door.

His eyes pierce, sharp and inorganic. His wings are flared, their many gaze multiplying in a dizzying hypnotic halo circling his head.

His fingers clench the edge of the door, tight enough that his knuckles are white. The servant’s hand, mid-stretch, has paused, unwilling to cross the unseen threshold to unlock.

Presque turns, slowly, paler than a ghost. Her magic has sensed the danger, even if her mind has not.

The look on Heart’s face is utterly alien. Incomprehensible. There is a blankness to it, an obscurity. But the world has stretched thin to accommodate the weight of the piercing fury which he has rounded on Presque.

She wilts, her soul blown to pieces under his look. Her eyes are wide, uncertain, struggling, barely able to comprehend. Tears are already forming, already dripping down her cheeks, as she stumbles out of the chair and hits the floor harshly.

“Heart,” is all I can say.

Like a flipped switch, the air snaps back to normalcy. He looks to me, surprised and relieved at once. And, a second later, regret melts onto his expression at the realization of his intensity.

Presque struggles to her feet awkwardly. She stares at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, rubbing at the trickle of tears with the back of her arm.

“Is everything okay?” Heart asks. The servant’s hand finally lands on the latch, which they unlock. The door creaks open, but he doesn’t move. “I - Presque-”

She looks up hopefully.

“I’m sorry, I just -” now he enters, anxiety plain. This situation is unfamiliar, impossible to navigate. He’s lost at sea in a storm. “I just- I-”

Perhaps my presence really is having an affect on him. Perhaps I truly am leading him astray in the slow, poisonous way. How else to explain this outburst, this struggle, this never-before-seen fury in his heart?

But, as soon as those thoughts enter my head, I find my mouth is already moving. “Just worried, worried about-”

Heart pauses, eyes flicking to me, mouth open slightly. He gives a tiny nod.

Presque looks to me, too, a glimmer of hope and relief in the fringes of her expression.

“After all,” my mouth continues, “imagine that Madera would’ve thrown me off the side of the mountain - he was thinking he’d need to call the rescue corps-”

Heart bursts into disorganized laughter, despite the stressed tears on his face. All his wings puff up at once.

It’s enough to push Presque into giggling, too. She’s a little more subdued, still nervous, but when Heart doesn’t stop, she lets her chest fill with the sound, too.

“Yes, I- I misunderstood,” Heart manages, and reaches to put a soothing hand on Presque’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Presque.”

“No, no, nah, it’s okay,” she cocks a grin. “I shouldn’t have snuck up here. All you saw was a pair of horns, huh?”

“Yours and Madera’s do look alike,” he laments.

She elbows him lightly. “You made us that way! Hey, blame yourself for the unoriginality!”

“I’ll take complaints when the Harbinger arrives,” he says.

My stomach twists slightly.

But Presque takes the gallows’ humor well, with a snort. “I think we all will, Heart. But, ah, I should - gotta go make sure the wyverns are ready.”

She makes a wavy gesture up-down with her hand, simulating the wyvern’s flight.

“Take care,” Heart says, and kisses her forehead.

She gives him a thumbs up. And then her eyes flick to me, and she gives me a smile and a bit of a nod.

I manage to nod back.

And then she’s gone, down the staircase. And the servant very aggressively latches the door after her.

Heart collapses into a pile of feathers in one of the back chairs. He scrubs his face for a second, and lets out a hiss of a sigh. I pace over to his side, fidgeting with my hands.

He says something muffled from under his palms.

I lean forwards. “What?”

He peels them away. “Sorry. I said - thanks, Worm.”

I blink.

“For - you - you saved that,” he says, expression guilty. “I just... I really did panic, seeing her silhouette, I just... but that’s not an excuse, I... I could’ve....”

“But you didn’t,” I say.

He glances to me, suddenly wide-eyed.

“I don’t think you should preoccupy yourself with ‘could haves’. Speaking from experience.” my voice is surprisingly firm. “The only thing that matters - is the here and now of reality.”

His little smile returns, relieved. “You’re right, Worm.”

“Thanks,” I say, automatically.

He pulls himself up straighter in his seat, and reaches to fluff up one of my wings. “When’d you get smarter than me?”

“You’ve rubbed off on me.” I smile back.

He pulls on my wing. I stumble forwards, and then into his arms, which he wraps so tightly and warmly around me.

I keep saying it, but the relief is pouring out of him in spades. Relief. Relief at my actions, at what I did. Relief.

I invoked that in him. Through some blundering words that I barely made sense of before spitting them out in desperation.

Soft warmth shudders down my body. I relax into his touch, his comfort, his safety.

He stands, holding me still. I squeak slightly, even as he nuzzles against my face and I feel his breath against my face.

I turn, my heart stopped, unsure if I’ll be allowed.

His mouth meets mine, soft and deep. His hand flies up to cup my cheek, intensity brimming under his surface, passion ignited.

As if this is the strongest he’s ever felt about anything in the world.

Could I invoke that in him?

My hands curl around his shoulders, my head tilts back to accept him. For a second, I imagine that the entire festival is watching, their eyes plastered to the obscene kiss before them.

But, rather than insult and offense and panic, they would stare at us with acceptance and understanding. Even if they cannot grasp at it, they will tolerate it, they will permit it, if not solely for the adoration in Heart’s eyes.

But, of course, we are obscured, hidden. Only the servants see our illicit love, and they politely look away.

And when the kiss breaks with a small wet noise, it remains a thing shared only between us.

I look up at him. His eyes sparkle down at me, their multicolored depths so intricate and perfect, a dozen fractals that I am lost and found in.

I love him.

Source-All, smite me now if that’s a crime.

I close my eyes.

Our weight shifts as Heart sits in his throne, leans back, relaxes slightly. His lap is comfortable enough that it outweighs the fear.

I tuck my head against his chest, and let my eyes lazily fall open, towards the crowd.

Upon a pink throne, carved with various heraldic drakes, Presque smiles up at us. A wyvern crows next to her head, and she is distracted in the next second, popping a treat into its maw.

But even that small smile is enough.

Spring. Rebirth.

Maybe I, too, can become something else.